Mexican Revolution ~by Julio

Michoacan, Mexico, 1909:   

    As the smell of gasoline fills the air, the bland walls tell no story. The cobbled streets of the central square are packed with people minding their own business and street marketers trying to make a living.
    People sit with melancholy waiting for a miracle.  Some people think that poverty is a sad, terrible thing but I see it as a good thing not because people are poor, but because poverty is one who slowly and secretly brings people together. Aside from poverty, it’s not all sad. People smile and laugh with the people at their side.
    There are also places to escape the crowded streets; you just have to find the empty ones that are filled with rich, inviting air. They are the peaceful ones, they are the ones that help you relax. These streets are not so rare, for they are everywhere.  These streets pave the way to escape for all who choose to follow.
                                                            ...

    On my way home from school, I saw Xochil working in the sugar cane fields. When she saw me approaching, she said in the sweetest voice, "Serapio, I want to go to school." 
    In return I told her, "Some day, my dear friend, I'll have enough money to send you to school. I'll have enough to send you for your whole life if you want!" 
    "Maybe if this year's harvest is good, we'll have enough for at least half a year," she said in that same dreamy voice.
    In my seven-year-old mind, I already knew that we wouldn't.  As young as I was, I already knew that she would not go to school.  So, I quickly departed to do my work. I truly wanted to help her go to school, but alas, I didn't know how to make the money.  People in my country of Mexico didn't have a surplus of money for loans. Even if they did, who would give it to a feeble seven-year-old in order to send his friend to school? 


    The next day was Christmas. It's odd how everybody can be happy on just one day; but they are. I've always wondered about the significance of this particular day. My parents told me that it's Christ's birthday. I wondered why he is worshiped. Would he want to be worshiped? This leads to my theory of church. Some people went every Saturday or Sunday just to rid themselves of the sins that they had committed over the week. Then, they would sin in the same way following week.  Despite my beliefs about Christmas, I still got Xochil a present. 
                                        
January, 1910:
    Today Xochil and I were walking home from the sugar cane fields when suddenly we heard the loud blast of a rifle. I thought it was my father in his drunken state. But then I saw five people mounted on horses going towards the house. Standing next to me was Xochil, who had froze with fear. I grabbed her by the arm and together we hid in the the fields watching the strange men.  What are they doing, we wondered as we watched. The strange men broke the door of the small house open and a few minutes they came out dragging the women and restraining her while pushing the men out of the house. The men threw Xochil's and my parents onto their knees all facing the same direction. Then one of the men stood forward and said, "Your land will help us achieve our goal."
    "And what makes you think I'll let you use my land?" my father boldly replied in a raspy, angry voice.

    The strange man in a blue somewhat Napoleon like army suit simply said, "You won't."  As he walked away, he nodded to his men. The four other men aimed their firearms at Xochil's and my parents. At almost at the same time, they fired.

    Xochil burst in tears. She ran towards our parents' executioners nearly knocking one of them down, she started beating his chest. But he was impervious to her blows. He grabbed her by the arms and threw her on the ground. Xochil stayed sobbing on the ground.
    As the man who ordered our parents to be killed walked passed me, I stared at him, tears rolling down my cheeks. All he did was stare back at me. I looked back to see him walk away with his men following behind him and then disappear into the sugar cane field.
    I turned and walked toward the still crying Xochil.  She had collapsed next to her parents' bodies. I grabbed her arm and helped her up. We walked away not knowing where we going or what we were going to do.  All we knew is that we had each other.

    Present day:
        I still remember my parents' death. I still remember the assassins, which include Madero's, Emiliano Zapata's, and Fransisco Villa's. Many memories of my past dwell in my mind....
 

by ~ Julio